The Finding
by thetaleteller
Summary: Seven turns ago, Evane's Alhameth rose, and made her Weyrwoman. Seven turns ago, Evane stepped down, abdicating the position. Now, things have changed - and Evane is put in a position where she must accept what she has never been able to.
1. Chapter 1

**Late morning, day 15 of month 9, Ista Island, Turn 157**

Blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see, spotted here and there with clouds, but otherwise clear, cerulean blue, and below, white-capped blue waves, rolling ever onwards to an unseen shore.

Evane shut her eyes, forgetting the monotonous landscape to allow herself to be swept into the soft rise and fall of wing beats, and the feel of sinuous hide beneath her thighs. Alhameth soared higher still, wings stretched as far as they would go, whisper-light caresses her only contact with the still, unfocused mind of her lifemate.

Evane felt she could stay in the skies forever, completely adrift from the day-to-day concerns of the world below – just her and Alhameth, soaring and diving as the whim struck. She could sense, without words needing to be shared, that Alhameth would not object to such a life, either – that as long as the two of them were together, that was enough.

She knew before being told that their trip was over, though, as Alhameth's mental touch hesitated, then released a reluctant sigh into her own mind. Kanyeth's wants to see you. He's-- She projected, rather than tell, spilling forth a sense of frustration, of mourning, of impatience.

_Tell him we're coming_, Evane told her lifemate, sighing as she opened her eyes again, stretching out her shoulders just once more. _You'd better take us back, sweetness. _

She'd barely presented the necessary visual for Alhameth before the bitter cold of Between engulfed them, and she shivered, though it was as much for the news she suspected was awaiting them, as for the cold itself. She counted, and on the eighth count, they burst into the world again, Ista stretching out beneath them, sunlit and beautiful, but not-- not freedom.

Alhameth circled only briefly, returning the welcoming rumble of the watch-dragon, then diving towards her ledge, hundreds of feet below. Evane briefly exhilarated in the thrill, though it lasted not nearly long enough, and then they were landing upon the sunny ledge, and she was, with great reluctance, sliding down towards the ground. _Council chambers?_ she asked, and, upon receiving a silent note of confirmation from the dragon, she hurried for the stairs, dropping her helmet and jacket on the way, and trying to finger comb her hair.

She intended to catch her breath just outside the council chambers, but the heavy door was open, and M'lak was waiting for her, sitting in the Weyrleader's chair at the far end, and he was clearly watching for her. She took a deep breath, and stepped past the threshold, swallowing thickly under the bronzerider's gaze.

He waved her into a seat at the foot of the table, but didn't wait until she'd sat before he began, his deep voice filling the chamber, making her wish she'd shut the door behind her. "You can't just wander off like that, Evane. Not now. You're needed here."

"I just needed some air," she began, hopeful, trying to explain. He waved her off.

"Not now," he told her, placing both, meaty hands upon the tabletop. "I don't have time. This morning, while you have been off enjoying yourself, I have been consulting with the healers."

Evane bowed her head. She'd known, of course, that this was coming, but it was one thing to know, and quite another entirely to have everything confirmed.

"Jenesy is to be kept in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. If – and remember, this is only an if – she survives childbirth, it's likely to be months before she is back on her feet. You understand, of course, what this means."

"But it's only temporary, right?" she blurted out, without really thinking, leaning forward, begging with her eyes. "Just until she's back up."

M'lak glowered at her, and she sunk back into her chair, knowing the answer without even needing to be told. "We can't be without a Weyrwoman for that long, Evane, and you know it. Not when there's no guarantee Jenesy--" He broke off. "We will make the announcement tonight, and when Alhameth rises – before the end of the turn, I imagine – it will become official."

Evane felt a lead weight form in the pit of her stomach, felt the shackles in her heart. "What if Seskiath rises first?" she heard herself say, not quite conscious of opening her mouth to do so.

"Seskiath is not due for half a turn or more," M'lak stated, baldly, shaking his head. "Alhameth is due. And there will be no stunts this time."

Evane swallowed.

"I don't understand you, Evane," M'lak continued, his frustrated gaze resting on her in such a way that she wished she could sink through the stone floor. "You've been a Weyrwoman for longer than Jenesy and Magian combined, yet you won't stand up. Maggy has only been here three turns – three, Evane – but she'd do her duty, and gladly, if it were Seskiath. Why won't you?"

She could feel Alhameth in the back of her mind, fretting quietly, but she shut her out, staring down at the table, unable to verbalise all that was going through her head.

M'lak waited, waited longer than was even polite, silence making the room even more uncomfortable than the words before it. He broke first, sighing, rustling the papers in front of him. "No stunts, Evane, do you hear me? You're thirty-five turns old, and it's about time you started acting it."

"No stunts," she promised, in a voice that scarcely seemed her own, so dull and lifeless it sounded. "May I go?"

She could sense his disappointment, though she kept her gaze away, and she could hear his sigh. "I'm sure you have work to do," he agreed, finally. "But we'll see you at dinner, of course, ready to make the announcement. We're going to have to work together, now, Evane, you and I. I hope you'll play fair with me. Trust me."

She couldn't find any words at all to respond to that; she nodded, blindly, then turned and fled.

Alhameth probed at her mind, as she made her way, much more slowly this time, from the Council Chambers towards the stairs that would take her back to the ledge. She ignored the queen, for once, pausing to lean against the stone wall, her head tilted back and her eyes closed. Play fair. Trust him. Her skin crawled.

Logically, she knew she couldn't – shouldn't, at least – keep blaming M'lak, but even now, in her head, she could replay the scene with such vividness she found it hard not to cry out. Dragon lust – yes, of course. But she'd been unprepared, and he'd been so callous, not just during her deflowering, but afterwards, blaming her for not 'fixing it' first, and then... She swallowed. Taking her again, as if trying to prove that – that what? That it could be pleasurable? He hadn't, if that had been his aim. He hadn't proven anything, except that he was hateful, and she would have nothing to do with him.

But that was going to prove difficult, now. She'd managed just fine, for a few turns, after that. She'd adjusted to weyr life, or pretended well enough that no one seemed to notice. 'Forgotten' her holder values, embraced her duties, supported her Weyrwoman. And then everything had gone wrong, when Weyrwoman Syva died, and when everything settled, it was M'lak who sat in the chair that had been B'derin's – and it was all her fault.

She sunk down the wall, ending in a seated position on one of the steps, just far enough down that Alhameth could not quite see her from the ledge. But what should she have done differently? She'd never asked for any of this. Not even as a little girl, dreaming of the future. Her dreams had been of husband and family, not dragons – and so-called glory. Not that she regretted Alhameth, as such, but...

She could hear the queen, above, letting out a long, low cry, and tried to shut this out, too. Of course she loved Alhameth. Of course she did. That wasn't the issue.

It was the cage, binding tight, and tighter, and tighter still. Always tighter, until she felt like there was no way out, ever, and she'd never have any of the freedoms she craved. No reprieve. Nothing. Ever. And this time she wouldn't even have K'teric to help.

--

**Early morning, Spring, Ista Weyr, Turn 150 (Seven turns previous)**

Evane work with a start, memories of the events of yesterday flooding back with aching clarity. She probed silently at Alhameth, noting with relief that the queen was still fast asleep, her dreamy thoughts contented and fulfilled, mentally entwined with her captor-turned-lover. Evane envied her lifemate, silently, for that contentedness.

She turned her attention, then, to her immediate surroundings. She was in her own weyr, in her own bed, but there was a body next to her, feet twined with hers, a hand draped over her bared breast possessively. Swallowing a sigh, she attempted to manoeuvre herself free without waking him, slipping his hand away, disentangling her feet.

The morning air was warm already, despite the coolness of the stone around her, and she felt utterly naked, not just physically, which, of course, she was, but mentally and emotionally, too. Unwilling to cause more noise than was strictly necessary, she slid on yesterday's clothes rather than finding new ones, and ignored the wild mess of her dark, curly hair.

She wasn't really sure where she was going, except that she didn't want to be here, in the space that she'd made her own; it didn't feel like her own, with a body in the bed, another dragon on the ledge. Alhameth was entwined with her mate even now, bronze and gold wrapped about each other and glistening in the morning sun. They made quite a picture, she had to admit.

"They compliment each other."

The voice startled her more than she could have imagined. She spun about in surprise, despite knowing already that the body that had been in her bed was no longer there – he was standing behind her, naked as the day he was born, and he was smiling at her. "Good morning, Weyrwoman."

"Don't call me that." She pushed past him, back into the weyr, leaning down to gather up his clothes, which she shoved into his arms as he turned to follow her. "Just go."

"Evvy, sweetheart--"

"Please don't."

She almost took pity on him, standing there with his clothes in his arms, his expression utterly bewildered. She couldn't help but notice how muscular those shoulders of his were, how well built. She swallowed. "It isn't you, Ket. I'm not angry at you. But you need to leave."

He dropped the clothes unceremoniously, crossing the space between them in a matter of moments, and drew her back to the bed, sitting her down solemnly. "I'm not leaving, Evane, not until we talk about what's bothering you. We have to work together, now. I didn't – that is, we weren't chasing to be Weyrleader, Brioneth and I. But we caught, so we're here. I won't shirk my duty."

He was younger than she was, still only a few turns out of his weyrling training, and so earnest. She turned away, unable to look him in the eye. "But I will."

He frowned. She didn't need to look at him to know that much; she could feel it in the hand he was holding hers with. "What do you mean, Evvy?"

"I'm stepping down. Today. This morning, if I can. Lannanth will rise in a few months. What does a few more months matter? It's better, this way."

His hand left hers, and for a moment, she thought that maybe he was about to storm out on her. Instead, K'teric grasped her head lightly with both hands, turning it so that she was facing him, unable to look away. "I will support you in whatever you have to do, Evvy. But you don't need to. You're going to be an excellent Weyrwoman for Ista, and-- and I'll just have to do my best to be a good Weyrleader, too."

"No." She shook her head, forcing his hands away. "I can't. I don't want it. I never did. Lannanth was supposed to rise first. Everyone knew that. Jenesy will make a much better Weyrwoman. Alhameth was supposed to wait." She could feel a rising wail in her voice, and desperately tried to swallow it. "It has to be like this."

K'teric sought her eyes again, his deep blue ones meeting her brown ones. "I don't think it does, Evvy. But if it's what you want--"

"I do."

"Then that's what we'll do." He sounded, for a moment, as leaderly as any bronzerider she'd met in her turns at Ista. She felt a pang of regret, that she was taking that role from him, too, but mostly, all she could feel was relieved. Free. She was going to be free.

--

**Early afternoon, day 15 of month 9, Ista Island, Turn 157**

"How did it go, Mel?" Jenesy's voice sounded, to M'lak's ears, even weaker than it had when he'd seen her earlier in the day. But she was propped up against the pillows, and smiling at him, a little blonde nymph, her belly distended far beyond the rest of her petite form.

He grasped at her hand, holding it tightly within his two, larger ones, as he sank into the chair beside her bed. "How does it ever go with her, Jenny? She argued, and then she was sullen, and then she pretty much walked out without a word. I don't understand her, my love."

Jenesy was placid, twining her fingers about his. "She's never been happy here, you know that. She probably should never have been picked up on Search."

"But she was, and she Impressed, and now she's been here nearly as long as she spent at that middle-of-nowhere hold of hers. Shouldn't she be used to it here?"

"I don't think she wants to be."

He glanced down at her, and found himself smiling despite himself. He couldn't help it, with Jenesy: she just had to look at him, and his heart would start thumping away. Nearly seven turns, and she still did it to him. It never should have worked – he was nearly twice her age! - but when she smiled at him... He knew it was right.

"But how am I supposed to work with her, Jenny? She hates me. She resents all of this. She'd pull that same stunt over again, even at her age, if she thought she could get away with it."

"You'll figure it out, darling. I have faith in you. I'm sorry for putting you in this position."

He grabbed her other hand, squeezing it, too. "Don't apologise, my love. Never apologise. If anything, it's my fault. We shouldn't have tried."

She shook her head, solemnly. "But I want your babies. And I don't care if they make me sick, now, as long as I get to hold them in my arms, and know that they're ours. Our babies. Our family, Mel. And I wish they weren't making me so sick, but... I don't regret it."

He leaned down, planting a kiss upon her forehead. "And neither do I. But that doesn't stop me from wishing, my love."

"I know," she told him, smiling. "But cheer up. Maybe Kanyeth won't catch Alhameth, when she rises."

M'lak shook his head. "He'll catch. He has to. I don't trust her on her own, Jen. I love this Weyr too much to trust anyone else to manage her. Even if it means being Weyrleader to another."

She nodded. "I understand. As long as you come home to me."

"Always."

--

**Evening, day 15 of month 9, Ista Island, Turn 157**

_Wish me luck, love_, Evane told Alhameth as she strode through the great passageway leading in to the Living Cavern, that evening. She felt awkward in her formal best, her hair pinned up, her knot pinned on straight. She felt more awkward than ever about the news that was soon to be shared; she could still feel that lead weight in her stomach, heavier than ever, and her throat was sandpaper dry.

M'lak met her at the doorway, and offered her his arm. She could see in his eyes a clear enough indication that refusal was not an option, so obediently hooked her arm about his, and let him lead her up past the resident and rider tables, and onto the dais, where the formal table sat. She never sat up here, if she could help it; she ate late, she ate early, but never, if it were even vaguely possible, when she might have to join the formal dinner.

Awkwardly, she sank into the chair he pulled out – the Weyrwoman's chair, she noted, no subtly at all. She could feel all the eyes in the room on her, or so it felt. M'lak sat down beside her, in the Weyrleader's chair – and Magian, from the seat next to hers, reached out to squeeze her hand. Maggy was a nice girl: sweet, honest, focused. Utterly capable. If it weren't for her age, she would be the perfect choice for Weyrwoman.

"You're going to be brilliant," Maggy told her in an undertone. And then: "Smile. Just a little. For me?"

Evane forced her face into a smile, though as a server came down the line to pour wine, she hastily grasped up her glass to sip at it, instead. She felt better with something in her hands.

The meal passed with relative ease, despite Evane's trepidation. She didn't spill anything, and as M'lak spent most of the meal talking to his Wingsecond, she was saved from awkward conversation. Maggy chattered cheerfully, and in such a way that required little response, for which Evane was doubly graceful.

But the lump in her throat grew larger than ever as the dishes were cleared away, and M'lak rose to his feet to address the Weyr. In his fifties, but tall, dark, beefy – he looked the part. He sounded it, too. "As you are all aware, the Weyrwoman has been having some difficulties with her pregnancy. After consultation with the Healers this morning, it is with some sadness that I announce she will be stepping down from her position, effective immediately, though, of course, we do hope that in due course, she will be well enough to take up active duties once more, under our new Weyrwoman."

There was a rustle and a murmur spreading through the assembled weyrfolk; Evane could not make out individual words and comments, but the response was unequivocally sad. It was, she knew, to be expected, for Jenesy had always been a well-liked Weyrwoman.

"I know I speak for us all, in sharing with the Weyrwoman my regret at this unhappy circumstance. Nonetheless, I also know that you will give our new Weyrwoman your respect and support, as she settles in to her new position. As always, the next queen to rise, be it Seskiath or Alhameth,"

Now, Evane really could feel the eyes on her. Most weyrfolk knew perfectly well that Seskiath was not due for some time – and that Alhameth was. They knew. And even those who had not been here, seven turns ago, knew the rest of the story. Evane felt her cheeks burn.

"In the meantime," M'lak continued, sparing only a few moments for discussion among the caverns, "As our eldest weyrwoman, Evane will be taking on the position in an acting capacity, until such time as the leadership can be confirmed. As I said, I know you will give Evane your full support, though with her experience, we know she will do an excellent job."

Maggy reached over to squeeze her hand again, whispering something Evane couldn't hear over the clamour in the caverns. M'lak nodded, once, then concluded: "In the meantime, have a good evening, Ista, and thank you for your time."

Evane was surprised. She'd expected to have to say a few words – that was usually how these things went. Did... did M'lak simply not trust her enough to do even that? For the first time, she found herself wishing that Alhameth would just rise, and get it over with. Maybe then she'd be dealing with something who, well. Wasn't M'lak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Morning, day 16 of month 9, Ista Weyr, turn 157**

"Do you think she'll do it again, this time?"

Talk had, since the previous evening's announcement, focused almost without exception, upon Evane, Jenesy, and the much respected Weyrleader, M'lak. While it hadn't been a surprise, given the way Jenesy had not been seen in weeks, and the rumours spreading about her condition, there were few among the weyr who weren't intrigued as to what would happen next.

"M'lak'd kill her, if she did. I think he would've liked to last time, even if it did work out in his favour, what with ending up Weyrleader and all."

F'stero's wing were washing their dragons after early morning drills, and spirits were high: this wing had been together, with few additions, for turns, now. They were experienced, confident, and they knew each other like the back of their own hands.

M'not rubbed a handful of sand over his Brandith's headknobs, giving the blue a good scratching as he did. "Would've been interesting, if it had been Evane and K'teric these past seven turns," he remarked, turning his head to address B'jan and D'rav.

"K'teric was too young," said B'jan, shaking his head. "And Evane... M'lak might have wanted to kill her, but I bet he was relieved, too. Jenesy may have been young, but she'd always been more--"

"Stable," put in D'rav, laughing.

B'jan ignored him. "Reliable, is the word I was going to use, actually, 'rav. Jenesy is more reliable. You never know what you're going to get from Evane. I think it's going to be interesting, if she doesn't pull out again."

R'deron bit his lip. He was on the edges of the conversation, just able to hear, but not quite close enough to be directly included, given the sizes of the dragons between them. But he'd known Evane since she first came to the Weyr – shards, they'd even Impressed together, all those turns ago. And he didn't really like the way everyone spoke about her.

"I think she's going to do brilliantly."

The other three all looked up in surprise as he spoke. R'deron was quieter than most of the wing, not a loner, as such, but usually less inclined to stick in his oar – so when he did, the usually listened.

M'not was the first to speak, and now more serious in his tone. "She doesn't look very happy about it, though, does she, R'deron? Maybe even less happy than she was last time."

"Didn't say she was happy about it," R'deron pointed out, running his fingers down Calleydath's neckridges as he spoke. "But she'll do it, and she'll do it brilliantly. She doesn't shirk."

"What do you call stepping down the minute you're given a position, then, if not shirking?" D'rav wanted to know, still laughing. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Rand still has a thing for Evane, after all theseturns," B'jan said, then, smiling. "He's bound to be a little biased. Still, I think he means that if she's going to do something, and she probably will, this time, she's going to do it properly – isn't that right?"

R'deron flushed pink at the accusation, opening his mouth immediately to deny it – but there was little point in arguing with them, he knew. They'd believe him, or they wouldn't, but most likely, they just wouldn't care. "She'll do it properly, that's right," he said, instead, ducking his head back towards Calleydath's side, the green rumbling softly in his ear. "I think she'll surprise everyone."

"So long as she doesn't surprise us with other unsuitable Weyrleader!" M'net and B'jan laughed at D'rav's comment, but R'deron could tell they agreed with it, anyway. Maybe it wasn't untrue, as such. K'teric would have been an interesting Weyrleader – but maybe not a good one.

The conversation moved on without him, and, lost in his thoughts, he returned to Calleydath, scrubbing down her apple-green hide with a loving fervour. You do like her, though, don't you? She asked him, nuzzling into his mind with a swirl of sea green.

_We were friends. Before you, Cal. That's all_. But he could tell Calleydath was not convinced – and nor should she be, she who could see straight into his heart. The truth was, he'd been at least half in love with Evane since they day they met, as Candidates for Wyrivath's clutch, eighteen turns ago. They'd hit it off: two hold-bred candidates, confused about everything, not even really sure if they'd make the right decision in coming. But she'd talked about a sweetheart back at home, whom she'd be returning to, to marry, when all of this was over. And then--

_And then there was Alhameth, and you, Cal. And maybe then her sweetheart didn't matter, but they swept her off to train as a Weyrwoman, and I was a greenrider, and that was kind of... it. You can't expect a Weyrwoman to notice a greenrider, Cal. Not even if you knew each other, before. _

Calleydath nuzzled his mind with hers, like a friendly ruffle of the hair. I'll never abandon you, R'deron. You're mine.

_I know, Cal. I love you. _

And I love you, too.

--

**Late morning, day 16 of month 9, Ista Weyr, turn 157**

"We'll want to wait before moving you in to the Weyrwoman's weyr for it all to be official, of course. When Alhameth rises. Still, if there are changes you want made to it, I would rather we know ahead of time. I don't want my staff under extra pressure."

The Headwoman was a bustling, sharp-faced woman in her sixties, and to be honest, Evane had always been a little bit scared of her – so intense! The hand-over tour had been going on for twenty-minutes already, and if nothing else, Evane was overwhelmed and a little confused by it all, and had barely gotten two words in. But now was time to speak up. "I'm happy in my own weyr, actually, Headwoman. I wouldn't want to force Jenesy to move."

Akasia glowered at her, hands on hips, her chin in the air. "That wouldn't be proper, Weyrwoman. Tradition insists that the Weyrwoman always has the same Weyr, with access to the Weyrleader's Weyr, and the Council Chambers. The Retired Weyrwoman has already indicated that she wishes to be moved into the Weyrleader's weyr, rather than take up space that does not belong to her."

Evane scowled. The last thing she wanted was to leave the weyr she'd lived in these past – oh, shards, how many turns was it? Too many. And even worse, to live somewhere that connected to M'lak's weyr! "I'd really rather not," she repeated, as firmly as she could manage. "I have no need for a fancy Weyr, and I could not condone moving an ill woman like that. We'll all stay as we are, thank you."

Akasia cleared her throat, and Evane got the impression that the battle was far from over – merely postponed until another time. She sighed, which only earned a disgusted sniff from the Headwoman. "Where else did you need to show me, Headwoman?" she prompted, attempting to clear her head. "I do know my way around the storage caverns already."

"I had not intended to show you those, Weyrwoman," responded the Headwoman, coolly. "I have things to see to, this morning, as I am sure you do, also. If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course."

"Thank you, Weyrwoman."

Evane sighed again, as the Headwoman marched down the corridor. She couldn't help but feel as though she had been measured up against Jenesy – and had come off quite badly indeed. But then, that's the way it had always been. Jenesy was the golden child, had worked for the Headwoman before Impressing, had instantly charmed everyone, Evane notwithstanding.

She told Jenesy as much, later, sneaking in to the Weyrwoman's weyr to have a quiet chat with the other goldrider. They'd always been friendly enough, got along relatively well, even if Evane found it difficult to understand what the younger woman saw in M'lak.

"I'm never going to live up to you, Jenesy," she said, sitting in the chair beside the bed. "Akasia seems to think I'm the biggest idiot who ever lived, and insists that I need to move in to your weyr, because it's tradition."

"It is tradition, Evane," Jenesy told her, mildly. "It wouldn't be proper for me to stay – and I don't mind, really. M'lak and I have been mostly living in here, but we can just as easily live in his – or any other, for that matter."

"But I don't want to move in here. It's too big, and we like our weyr. It suits us."

Jenesy reached out, touching Evane's arm with her dainty fingers. "It doesn't matter what you want, now, Evane. It's what the weyr needs that matters."

Evane pulled away. "Why does the weyr need me in here? It doesn't make any sense."

"It's a gesture. A sign that you're taking on your role, embracing it. The weyr is going to need that from you, Evane. They need to trust that you're looking after them."

Evane winced, turning her gaze to the wall, which she stared at as if she intended to burn a hole through it. "I never wanted any of this."

"I know." Jenesy paused a long time, before adding, "But you accepted Search. What else did you expect?"

"I don't know," Evane admitted, looking back at Jenesy. "My-- that is, when I was Searched, everyone else thought it would be such a wonderful thing, to have a Weyrwoman in the family. I was supposed to get married, soon, but he said I should go and try, just so I wouldn't spend our marriage wondering about what-if. And that seemed sensible, even though I was happy, and didn't think I did want to be a Weyrwoman. Only..."

"Do you realise that we've known each other for, what, ten turns now? Longer. And that's the first time you've admitted any of that, Evane."

"I didn't think you'd understand. You've always been so--"

"Happy. I can't help that, Evane. I love what I do. I don't regret any of it for a moment. How could I? The work is not so different from what I was doing, before, and I have Lannanth – and it made Mel notice me, finally. But that doesn't mean I don't care about how you feel. I don't understand, but I do care."

Evane slumped down into her seat, staring moodily at her feet. "Why'd you have to get sick, Jenesy? It isn't fair."

"Life isn't. Believe me, I'd rather I wasn't sick, too. But if being sick gets me the baby – babies – I want? It's worth it."

"But what about me?"

"What about you, Evane? Shells – act like an adult, for once! You've been a rider for how many years? Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Evane found herself standing up, stiffly. "I'll leave you to get some rest," she heard herself saying, as she turned and made her way out of the weyr, and into the bowl. She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes. Yes, okay, maybe it was childish, but... this was her life! And it wasn't the one she wanted. She could feel Alhameth pressing at the corners of her consciousness again, eager to be let back in, to be able to soothe her troubled rider. Evane ignored her. There were many things in life Alhameth could make easier, but this was not one of them.

But the queen would not be ignored. You're avoiding me, she remarked, as Evane began to make her way back home, thinking unhappily of all the hide work that would no doubt be waiting for her. Don't avoid me. I didn't do anything wrong.

_Didn't you?_ Evane found herself thinking, regretting it in an instant. No, that wasn't fair.

You think my choosing you was wrong? You wish I'd chosen someone else.

_No!_ Evane hastened to note, climbing up towards the ledge. _No, I don't. You're the other half of me. I just wish... _

Wish you could have me, but not be here, the queen surmised, shrewdly. It doesn't work that way. Dragons belong in a Weyr.

Evane sighed, trailing her fingers upon the sun-warmed, smooth stone as she emerged onto the ledge, finding Alhameth waiting for her, giant golden head turned to greet her. _I know it doesn't, sweetness,_ she agreed. _What I want can never me. I know that. _

Then why fight it? I'll always be here. It's not as though you can't do the work. You don't hate that. And I bet Kayneth will never be able to fly me! I'm too fast, and he's too old. So what's the problem?

She reached up to scratch the queen's headknobs, breathing deeply. "I don't know," she admitted, speaking out loud. "I just can't help it."

Try, advised Alhameth. Because when I rise, we are going to be the senior pair, whether you like it or not. So you'd better get used to it.

--

**Mid-afternoon, day 15 of month 9, Ista Weyr, turn 157**

There's someone on my ledge, complained Seskiath petulantly, as she dove towards it, her wide wings outstretched to catch a convenient thermal. She corrected herself, a moment later. It's Brynath. What are you doing on my ledge, Brynath?

Magian craned her neck, trying to see – and there he was, brown Brynath, the dragon who had, rather disappointingly, caught Seskiath in her first mating flight last turn. He was from Telgar; she wondered what he was doing here, without even asking first.

Brynath says his rider wants to talk to you, Maggy, the dragon informed her, a moment later, as she furled her wings to come to a landing upon the ledge. He's waiting inside for you. It's very rude, though, isn't it? To just drop in like that, on my ledge. I told him that, but he said it was important.

Silently, Magian thanked her lifemate, unstrapping herself and climbing down to the stone ledge. Brynath was a big brown, but he still didn't take up very much of the ledge; Seskiath's complaints were not related to not having enough room. But she was right about it being a little rude. Frowning, she made her way through the passage into the weyr. "C'landen?"

"Maggy, darling. I was hoping you wouldn't be long."

Magian did not like C'landen all that much. He was nowhere near as attractive as he thought himself, nor even close to as charismatic. And at some point, he seemed to have decided that she was now his personal goldrider, something she very firmly had no interest in being.

"You could have found out where we were, first," she noted, pulling off her riding jacket and hanging it on a peg near the door. "Then you needn't have waited."

He flashed her a lot of teeth as he smiled. He was sitting at her desk, his elbow right in the middle of a stack of hides she was working on. That annoyed her. "That would have been sensible, Maggy, and you know I pride myself on never stooping that low."

She swallowed back the nasty retort that sprung into her head, and instead, with a pasted-on smile, asked, "What brings you to my corner of the world, though, C'landen? I would have thought a Wingsecond like yourself had more important things to do than come on social calls."

"Ah, but darling, this is not a social call!"

"Then what is it?" Magian, having no desk to sit at, took a seat at the table, where she began to pull off her riding boots and the heavy socks she wore inside them. The day was too warm for such heavy clothing, and she intended to be comfortable, C'landen or no.

"I bring news! Great tidings, in fact. I just can't wait to tell you."

Sighing, Magian raised her eyebrows. "Then tell me, C'landen. Out with it."

"We have heard, of course, about the unfortunate circumstance relating to your Weyrwoman. Jenesy is well respected across Pern; we are, of course, quite sad for her, and for all of you, of course."

"Your sentiments are appreciated, of course," Magian told him, politely, as she set her second boot down beside the first, stuffing the sock inside.

"We understand that Evane will be taking the reigns – at least on a temporary basis, until the next queen rises, but as you and I both well know, Seskiath is not due for some time."

"That is correct," Magian agreed, cool, but polite, in her tone. "And I'm sure Telgar will wish me to pass on their congratulations and support to our new Weyrwoman."

C'landen's eyes seemed almost to glint with excitement. "In fact," he told her, voice raised, "We have an alternative to offer, Maggy my dear, to save Ista from--"

Magian broke in. "To save Ista?" she repeated, blankly. "From what? We have no qualms about our new leadership situation; Evane will do an excellent job, I'm sure."

"But she can't be trusted! Everyone knows that she stepped down, last time – she'd do it again, if she could! And it would be terrible for Ista. No one would respect her! Telgar would like to offer a swap. We have a weyrwoman with as much experience, and a far better reputation. My Weyrleaders would like me to invite you to come to Telgar, in exchange for Ginare, whose Melikanth is due within the month, and thus would certainly save Ista – and Evane, of course – from the alternative."

Stunned, Magian could not find the words to say anything for a time, after that. Seven turns ago, she'd not been at the weyr, had not really known about any of the events surrounding Jenesy's rise to the Weyrwomanship. She'd known, of course, that Evane had lost a great deal of respect, after that, that many had pitied Ista for such a 'defective' weyrwoman, but...

"Can your Weyrleaders truly believe for a second that Ista would be amenable to such a trade?" she said at last, putting her words as carefully as she could manage. "Evane is an experienced and capable weyrwoman. She has our full support, and absolute faith."

"You can't be serious," C'landen scoffed, dropping his elbow from the desk to be able to face Magian full-on. "She's defective! It's amazing that that queen of hers manages to rise at all. No real weyrwoman would ever dream of doing what she did – it's an outrage."

"I think you need to leave, C'landen, before your weyr causes any further damage to the relations between our two weyrs. Respectfully, we decline your offer."

"You don't have the authority to decline," the brownrider challenged.

"Who does, then? My 'defective' Weyrwoman?"

"I bet she would say yes. She doesn't want to be Weyrwoman. She'd say yes in an instant!"

"I don't believe she would."

"Then you have no idea, little Maggy. We'll see. I'd wager a great deal that you'll call Telgar home before the month is out."

"You need to leave, now, C'landen," Magian repeated, rising to her feet, suddenly regretting that they were bare. "I will let you see yourself off my ledge. Good day."

He left, with a swagger, and a leer in her direction that made her wish she could scrub her skin off completely just to get rid of it.

_Seskiath? I need to talk to Alhameth's rider as soon as possible. _


End file.
